


Under Control

by inelegantly (Lir)



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Mob, Gen, Negotiations, Organized Crime, Pre-Relationship, Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/inelegantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mihashi Ren is the heir to the Mihoshi crime family. He's never had to make a deal on his own in his life, but when a rival family expresses interest in establishing a truce, they won't accept less than someone of family blood attending the arranged negotiation meeting. That's where Abe comes in. He's been an enforcer for the family for some time, and though he isn't thrilled about protecting a pampered heir whose worth he's yet to see, he's certain he can maintain control of the situation. All Mihashi needs to do is leave the talking to Abe, and the meeting will be smooth sailing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moon_Blitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Blitz/gifts).



> I will admit, I was a bit at a loss for what to write with no specific prompts given. But after poking through the fics you've written and concluding that the setting probably wasn't a dealbreaker and that you likely aren't opposed to AUs, decided to write something pretty self-indulgent. I love mafia AUs. And I hope that you too will enjoy what I have written for you.

-

"You've never done this before, have you?" Abe asks.

They're standing outside the restaurant, a place that's upscale. Italian. One of those venues reservations get made for months in advance. From the back, standing in a dirty alley with his hand on Mihashi's arm and with Sakaeguchi standing off to their right, eyes fluttering between them like he doesn't know quite what to do, it doesn't look like much. 

Mihashi shakes his head, a quick back-and-forth motion that makes Abe's eyes roll in their sockets just imagining how Mihashi's brain must be banging against the insides of his skull at that speed. 

"Then leave all the talking to me," Abe says. "They want to see your face, to know we mean business. You don't have to give them anything more than that." 

The words come out almost as a reassurance. They're enough to have Mihashi nodding his head obediently (and at a more sedate pace, something for which Abe is grateful). That's all Abe needed. There's no reason to let Mihashi know that what he really means is, _keep your mouth shut, because I don't know I trust what will come out of it._

"Alright," Abe says, for his own benefit as much as anything. "Let's get in there." 

He pulls open the door, gesturing for the others to precede him inside. Sakaeguchi goes first, flashing Abe a wan flicker of a smile as he takes the lead. As the other bodyguard present for the meeting, Abe supposes the look is meant to be comforting. It's not instilling him with much confidence. They're stepping onto another family's turf, entering an establishment that's as good as the enemy's home court. _Nothing_ his companions do will be enough to put Abe at ease. 

Mihashi follows Sakaeguchi inside, and Abe steps in after him, bringing up the rear. 

They may be entering through the back entrance, but the hallway beyond is an immediate step up from the alley outside. Plush burgundy carpeting stretches out before them, the walls papered in cream and the fixtures touched with gold. There's a guard of some sort standing just inside; he's wearing the same dark suit Abe might expect of the maitre-d, but he knows better. 

"We have a meeting in the red room," Sakaeguchi says to the man in the suit. 

To his credit, the guard appears entirely unfazed by the appearance of three strangers all skulking in through the back door. He must have been working for the family a while already. He gives their party a nod, turns smartly on his heel, and leads them further inside. 

They don't see much of the place. There's no need to take them by the front dining room, or to walk them through the kitchens. Abe counts every door they pass and catalogues every sound he hears, the faint murmur of voices from the dining hall, the occasional mechanical groan or clank from the floor below. The restaurant is housed in what was once a private residence; the guard leads them up a staircase to the next floor, then down that hall to one of several rooms repurposed to serve as private lounges. 

"Mr. Nakazawa will see you inside," the man announces. 

He pulls open the door to the lounge, and waits for their group to escort themselves inside. 

The space lives up to its name, done up with wine-red carpeting and blood-red walls, a low, rectangular table sitting at the center of the room. The chairs and couches arrayed around it are upholstered in similar tones; Abe assesses the group of men already seated upon them and judges the one at the center, alone on a broad sofa directly opposite them, to be the man they've come to meet. 

Sakaeguchi posts himself beside the door as it closes behind them, the picture of a good bodyguard. Abe takes a step forward, taking care not to move _too_ far past Mihashi, to not confer to himself _too_ much of an air of authority. He gives a slim bow as a show of respect, albeit one that drops his head no lower than where his shoulders might rest, drawn to his full height. 

"We are the representatives of Mihoshi," he says. "Come to discuss business, and as a sign of good faith." 

The man on the couch smiles, a slow, squirming contortion of his lips that brings to Abe's mind snakes — or slugs. His eyes are too wide and bulging, toad-like, gleaming in the low light of the room. "Come and sit down," he says, gesturing to the chairs opposite his own seat. 

Abe remains where he is. After a moment — a long, drawn-out moment, stretched to the point of plucking at Abe's nerves — there comes a soft "oh" from beside him. Mihashi steps forward, moving with visible uncertainty toward the first of the chairs that have been pointed out to them. Abe fights the urge to cover his face with one hand. 

The room is too small, too cramped, filled with too many pieces of furniture and too many men whose allegiances are nothing for Abe to trust. Mr. Nakazawa has five bodyguards — "associates" he might say, they're associates, but Abe knows better about _that,_ too — to Mihashi's two. They're outnumbered two to one and Abe's skin is crawling with the unpleasant possibility of an ambush. The door at his back, Sakaeguchi at his back, they're no comfort. The options for their defense are few and limited and he _hates_ it. 

"We're here to discuss a partnership," Abe says, as he seats himself to Mihashi's right. "Is that not correct?" 

Mr. Nakazawa looks at him, with a slow, weighing stare that makes Abe want to tip his chin up in defiance. The man's gaze slides toward Mihashi, then back to him — the message is clear. He's being found wanting. And he _hates_ it, hates that it makes his blood boil to be dismissed that way, out of hand. 

"A partnership between the Nakazawa family and the Mihoshi family," the man agrees. "You're no relation of Mihoshi... Are you?" 

Abe grits his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mihashi fidgeting, shifting in his chair as his head visibly moves back and forth, looking first at Abe, then at Mr. Nakazawa, then back to Abe. It's painfully clear that he feels responsible, that he wants to step in to help. Abe cannot allow it. 

"That is correct," he says, each word carefully bitten off. "I'm not." 

"Then let the boy speak for himself," Mr. Nakazawa says, turning to Mihashi. "You're... Mihashi Ren, wasn't it?"

"I-I am!" Mihashi says. 

His voice squeaks, almost breaking on the pronoun, but it's loud. Certain. If nothing else, Mihashi is assured of his position as heir to his family. Abe's hands squeeze tight around the arm rests lying beneath his palms. 

"Then your grandfather will have made you aware of the terms of this treaty being drawn up between our families," Mr. Nakazawa continues. He lifts a briefcase that had previously been resting beside the couch to instead set it upon the table, popping each of its fastenings with a decisive, audible _click._ "And all of this is simply a formality." 

"That i-isn't true," Mihashi says. "My grandfather said this was a first meeting. No t-terms have been agreed to yet." 

The look Mr. Nakazawa directs Mihashi's way then is dark. Abe wonders exactly who he is, this "Mr. Nakazawa" they've been set up with. He knows the aging head of the family fathered three sons. They might be meeting with one of the younger, out to make a name for himself when it's the eldest whose future is secured. Or maybe a cousin? That would make sense too, someone else not far from the line of succession, someone else who might need to social-climb within the organization. 

He hates that he's been forced into this meeting with less than all the facts, hates that he's being forced to rely on Mihashi, who has only his name, who has never negotiated anything before in his life. He hates that this is as much as he can ever hope to achieve, becoming bodyguard to whichever true authority will sit at the table's head. He only wishes his leader was someone a little more inspiring than _Mihashi._

"Of course they have been," Mr. Nakazawa says, pushing past Mihashi's attempt at resistance. "They're right here, if you'd care to take a look." 

He lifts a sheaf of papers out of the briefcase, bound together with a fat, heavy clip at the top corner, and pushes them across the table towards Mihashi. He waits, expectant of Mihashi's appraisal. 

Mihashi's hand shakes, when he reaches out to take the document. Abe scowls where he sits. 

He forces himself to hold back, to restrain himself from offering anything more than observation. Mihashi's eyes fly back and forth across the page, moving fast, moving faster, in that trademark way Abe knows means he's taking in _nothing._ And he's an heir, heaped with expectations, doubtlessly he's about to insist that he has, it's so _obvious_ that he'll agree to anything asked of them just to save face. 

Abe reaches out, pressing his palm to the top of the document and pushing the papers down. His eyes cut across the room toward Mr. Nakazawa, staring him down in his chair. 

"We'll talk about the terms," Abe says, "like we agreed when this meeting was first discussed. Don't waste our time with reading documents." 

Through the course of the discussion, the men seated around Mr. Nakazawa have been silent. They stare stolidly on as words are exchanged, offering nothing save silence past their own lips. But when Abe defies their leader's plans, each of them tenses almost-imperceptibly, hands twitching towards what Abe can only assume are concealed weapons. 

Abe's hypervigilance jumps to an even higher stage of alert. 

"I'll have to tell our head you were uncooperative," Mr. Nakazawa says, spreading his hands in feigned apology. "He put a great deal of personal effort into the discussion that resulted in our drawing up these papers. It will be a grave personal insult, if you do not consider those terms." 

Abe pulls the papers out of Mihashi's hands, tosses the entire sheaf of them back onto the table. "And it would be an insult to _our_ head if you can't even deign to speak to us with words, like equals." 

There are more little motions around the room, more kneejerk reactions for the guards to go for guns, for knives. Abe's nerves are screaming with awareness of the tension, with the knowledge that at any moment the situation could devolve into something completely unsalvageable. It's on him to save it. Sakaeguchi is only a bodyguard; Mihashi is weak and impressionable. It comes down to Abe's call. 

"We are talking an unprecedented alliance between the families," Abe reminds Mr. Nakazawa. "Wouldn't it be best to start that off on a cooperative note?" 

For a moment there's only silence, every man in the room poised with readiness to react. Then everyone moves at once, hands going to holsters or knives being pulled out of sleeves, the possibility for peace forgotten in favor of the powerplay Abe had dared not consider: _kill the heir, and leave the Mihoshi family no choice but to bow to their rivals demands._

A gunshot sounds out, and the frenetic motion filling up the room freezes to expectant stillness. 

Abe's brain is in overdrive. He checks Mihashi first, their precious, simple heir, the prize they cannot allow to be lost, and finds his question answered in the way he was least expecting. Mihashi's fingers are wrapped around the handle of a gun, the first of which poised to again pull the trigger, the muzzle pointing steadily across the room.

"I k-know what we're trying to d-do is make a truce," Mihashi says. His voice shakes, though Abe can't help but wonder whether it's with _adrenaline,_ rather than fear. "So I didn't want to k-kill anyone. But I will, if your men make another move towards harming me!" 

He says that word, _kill,_ with such force it may as well be a second gunshot. It only breaks with his vehemence in spitting it out past his lips, and in that moment, Abe doesn't at all doubt that Mihashi could do it. His eyes follow where the gun is pointing, sliding across the room to the man who'd moved furthest toward Abe's chair. There's a rip through his pants leg, blood gushing down his calf in a dark, messy stream. 

As Abe watches, the man's leg gives out, dropping him to his knees. Only shock had held him upright; once that failed, his compromised knee joint gave, broken apart by Mihashi's clean, precise shot. 

"We won't be doing that," Mr. Nakazawa says, hastily smoothing over the situation. 

They could still take out Mihashi, Abe can't help but think. But maybe it doesn't look the same, hamstringing an enemy through his heir, if the heir takes out half your men before you can even get your hands on him. It makes something pull tight in Abe's chest, a tense, coiling thing midway between wonder and pride, fierce with the feeling of it. He never knew Mihashi could be so calm, so careful under pressure. 

"Then let's talk about the terms of the truce," Mihashi says, sitting back down in his chair. He keeps the gun in his lap, in plain sight, his hands folded over it and only faintly fidgeting. The way his fingers jump, as if he's itching to again pull the trigger, make the pose all the more unsettling. "Like Abe-kun said, in a fair discussion, with our own w-words." 

The wind goes out of Abe, watching Mihashi somehow take control of the situation. He sinks back against his chair, left entirely at a loss. 

"Yes, yes, let's do that," Mr. Nakazawa says, gesturing with one hand for his men to stand down. 

They do, retreating to the corners of the room and assuming posts much like the one Sakaeguchi has maintained since the three of them first walked in. Abe casts a sidelong glance back at him, catching sight of Sakaeguchi's troubled, wondering expression. He's always been too easy to read — it's obvious that he wasn't expecting the confrontation that went down, was expecting even less how Mihashi reacted to it, and hasn't yet recovered from the shock. 

Perhaps Abe hasn't, either. He takes his own advice, leaving the talking to Mihashi, relegating himself to his familiar position of _guard,_ of _observer._ Mihashi handles himself well, despite the occasional stumble or stutter as he searches for his words. And he knows his grandfather's business better than Abe thought to expect. 

He can't help but see Mihashi in a new light, and can't help but think, perhaps he found the right future authority to ally himself with after all. 

-

-


End file.
